Revelation 6:8
by carryon-vs
Summary: Episode 1.02. The brothers find themselves back on the road, pursuing what appears to be an easy hunt, desperate to resume a life that passes as normal for them. Only all signs are pointing to something that doesn’t meet the eye, not even in their world.
1. Chapter 1

Carry On...A Supernatural Virtual Season

Episode 2: Revelation 6:8

Authors: sendintheclowns, Mikiya, and Twinny

Disclaimer: We don't own Supernatural or it's characters, basically any characters familiar from the show. They are properties of the WB, CW and Eric Kripke.

A/N: Carry On...A Supernatural Virtual Season picks up at the end of All Hell Breaks Loose part one and then ventures on with a what if scenario that takes the Winchester brothers through heaven and hell while fighting to save the remnants of their splintered family. See our bio page for more information.

Summary: The brothers find themselves back on the road, pursuing what appears to be an easy hunt, desperate to resume a life that passes as normal for them. Only Sam hasn't completely recovered from his time spent away from Dean, dead, and Dean's world has been rocked with the knowledge that he put both his father and brother to rest only to have them pop back up again. All signs are pointing to something that doesn't meet the eye, not even in their world.

PART ONE

Bobby felt sick.

From where he was standing a few feet away from the boys he had a clear view of the black eyes and seeing them shocked him just as much as it did the brothers. He'd been so focused on the standoff between Sam and the yellow-eyed demon he hadn't noticed the ominous figure of John approaching the battlefield. So when the voice finally sounded so close to them he'd been as shocked as everybody else by the appearance of what he'd first hoped was John Winchester himself.

It wasn't.

He couldn't miss the turn of events when the demon had shown itself and addressed the boys, speaking in a voice that was so familiar that he'd been fooled into believing it could be the dead patriarch of his adopted family.

For just about one second.

The words of _whatever_ had crawled out of Hell and the flashing of black eyes had a devastating effect on the brothers. From where he was leaning heavily against Ellen Bobby could make out how the two younger men struggled with this awful reality: Sam was weaving dangerously behind Dean, staring wide-eyed at the demon. The remaining color was slipping from his face and his knees started to buckle, forcing him to lean heavily against his brother's back as he fought to stay upright. Dean was wearing a very similar grimace of disbelief and his hands were shaking almost as much as his brother. He was staring at the demon just as intensely as the rest of them and slowly his features changed from relief into something akin to fear mixed with an emotion Bobby couldn't quite make out over the distance.

The _thing_ wearing John's face didn't move; it just studied the boys, how they wavered on their feet so very close to it. Its proximity to them, the very real danger that was almost palpable in the air around them choked off Bobby's air for a moment and had him moving in their direction, slowly letting go of Ellen who nodded once and stepped away from him. He needed to get over there, to move between them, protect the boys against the one thing they had never been able to protect themselves against.

Just like he had sometimes wanted to do when John was still alive.

The yellow-eyed demon was watching the brothers with a satisfied smile on his face and, unnoticed by the young hunters, he got to his feet, keeping his eyes on them as he brushed his hands off on his trousers. It looked so content and gleeful Bobby wished for the Colt to shoot that grin off its face.

All eyes were on the two brothers, on Sam who was more and more fighting desperately to remain standing but obviously lacking the strength to do so and Dean, how he visibly fought with emotions which flashed across his face, too brief to make out.

But then instinct triumphed over feelings and Dean was the first to move, a step backward, closer to Sam, away from 'John'. In a way Dean did what he always did, he chose Sam over everything, every_one_, even over some _thing_ wearing their father's face.

And then the moment of doubt and maybe even hope was over, reality smacked them in the face, all of them, waking them from the trance they'd found themselves in.

Sam was moving, or rather, his body decided he wouldn't be standing on his feet any longer and he gave a small, distressed sound before pitching forward against Dean's back, reaching out to catch himself on his brother's frame. The next second some instincts seemed to be kicking in, his body straightened and he took a shaky step back, away from Dean. Bobby understood what he was doing; giving Dean space to move should 'John' decide to do… something. Dean didn't take his eyes off the thing's face but moved with Sam, taking the same step away, one hand reaching back for his brother.

"No…" Sam's weak voice drifted across the place and he continued to stare in disbelief at their black-eyed 'father'. "Oh God, no…"

The demon's eyes focused on the youngest Winchester and its lips spread into what might have been a kind smile on John's face. "Sammy, it's so good to see you again…" it crooned with the familiar voice, sounding so much like _him_. The younger man paled in reaction and shied back, fingers twisting desperately into Dean's jacket as he weakly tried to pull him back from it.

When 'John' moved Dean immediately tensed and braced himself, squaring his shoulders, shielding his shaky brother with his body and trying, but failing to look pissed and dangerous.

But he needn't have worried, the _(possessed?)_ Winchester turned slowly so that he was facing the yellow eyed demon, looking at him with a thoughtful expression.

"You were right, it _is_ good to see my boys again."

Yellow Eyes didn't fight against the contented grin that started to spread his lips and he nodded at John, a fake thoughtful expression briefly clouding his features. "I can imagine that… But I'm afraid we'll have to break up this very emotional family reunion now, don't you agree, _John_? Your boys have a lot to talk about and we should give them some time to work things out." His glowing eyes once again settled on the brothers and he smirked, giving them a mock salute. "See you later, boys."

A wave of his hand, a shift of reality and they were gone.

-0-

_Bobby was panting heavily next to him as they jogged towards the town. It was raining slightly and more than once they had tripped over something on the uneven ground, just barely catching themselves to avoid slipping in the mud. He could feel his heart beating in his throat and it had nothing to do with their trip through the woods. He knew Sam was there, he was certain of it, he could almost feel his brother's presence somewhere in front of him and that thought alone was enough to quicken his steps once again._

"_Sam!"_

_Next to him Bobby grumbled something about not giving their presence away, but he didn't care, didn't care for anything but his brother._

_And then Sam was there, stumbling across the middle of a dark, empty, muddy street, looking lost and scared. He was hunched over in a way that instantly told him his brother was in pain and his eyes slid to the arm Sam held cradled against his chest._

_He heard his own voice call out for his brother again, even before he realized he had opened his mouth, and Sam looked up at him, the lost expression instantly changing into one of relief._

"_Dean!"_

_And then a dark shadow rose behind Sam—_

—_and he was down on the ground, blinking up dizzily at a stranger with yellow eyes. _

"_Really. I should be thanking you. For what? Wiping out my whole family?"  The man quirked his eyebrow at him, fixing him with a stare. "Your whole family. Isn't that a bit of an overstatement on your part?"_

_Anger bubbled up inside him like some volcano, unstoppable, forcing the words out through a tight throat. "You weren't content to take away my parents, you had to go and take Sam, too."_

"_Oh, I didn't take Sam. I just borrowed him for a little while. See for yourself." He didn't really understand what he was talking about, but then there was movement behind the creature and Sam—_

—_was a heavy weight against him, the dark head lolling limply, lifeless against him. He could feel his brother's chest struggle through his final breath before he just collapsed against him, tension, _life_ gone from his body, leaving him clutching a dead weight against his chest—_

"No, SAM!"

He snapped upright, almost hitting his head on the coffee table next to him as he scrambled to get into a sitting position. For a few minutes he couldn't remember where he was; the room he was in looked too unfamiliar from where he was sitting. He blinked rapidly to clear his sight enough to get his surroundings into view; he was sitting on a makeshift bed on the floor, in front of a vaguely familiar couch, with sunlight streaming through a window, blinding him for a moment and he reached up, shielding his eyes. His breath was still coming in short puffs for air and after verifying that he wasn't under attack he closed his eyes for a second, trying to get his breathing under control. He remembered this room now, he was still at Bobby's and—

It had been _that_ dream, again, like every time he closed his eyes, every friggin night he tried to get some rest he had to face his failure, how he couldn't save him, how that guy—Jake—had stabbed that knife into his brother's back, had _killed_ him because he hadn't been fast enough. Sam was dead because of him, he was gone, he was alone and--

SAM!

His eyes snapped open and he whirled around, then froze.

His first thought was that he was still dreaming, still caught in one of those nightmares because… It couldn't be, he couldn't believe his eyes, what he was seeing was impossible.

Sam was lying on his side, face buried halfway into one of the cushions, completely relaxed and sound asleep. One of his legs was hanging over the side of the couch, revealing a still booted foot and his right hand was dangling off as well, fingers twitching ever so slightly as he dreamed.

Just like he had seen him a hundred times before. Like he had never been de—_gone_ at all. Like Cold Oak hadn't happened.

Like he hadn't burned Sam's dead body a week, an hour, a _lifetime _ago, the smell of burning flesh and wood still choking him when he didn't concentrate on keeping it away.

He was back, Sam was alive.

_Alive_.

He didn't know how much time passed while he was sitting next to the couch, blanket clutched around him in tight hands, staring at his brother, taking in the way his back rose and fell in a steady rhythm, movement that had not been there the last time he had looked at him.

He didn't realize he was reaching out for Sam until his fingers touched his brother's ankle where his leg was hanging off the couch and he held his breath for a second as his fingers brushed across mud-encrusted jeans. For one awful second he feared Sam would just fade away like the dream he was pretty sure he was having at the moment, disappear like the illusion he was—_had to be_—but that second passed and Sam was still there, twitching ever so slightly beneath his hand.

"Sammy…"

The whispered word was over his lips before he could stop himself and his eyes followed the length of Sam's blanketed body until they came to rest on what little he could make out of his face that was hidden beneath the familiar mop of tousled hair. He frowned when he could make out bits and pieces of mud still clinging to Sam's head, the hair stringy and filthy in a way that would have him run for the bathroom if he had been awake to see it.

Dean didn't care; he was mesmerized by the way Sam's chest was moving up and down, slowly, in that familiar rhythm that told him his brother was completely and utterly out of it. His brother looked just as tired as he felt.

Sam was back.

He didn't have black eyes like… like _him_.

A shudder worked its way through his exhausted body and he winced, almost pulled the blanket closer around him against the sudden chill that was spreading throughout his limbs. Only that it wouldn't help against the emotional coldness.

It couldn't be, whatever they had seen, whatever trick Yellow Eyes had played on them, it wasn't their father, it wasn't John, he would never… right? It was just some demon riding his body… which they had burned so that this could never happen, he couldn't be used like some cheap suit. They had burned him, just like he had burned S—

_Don't go there._

But it was strange, he'd burned Sam's body as well and now Sam was back and himself and it didn't really make sense. Maybe…

_Do _not_ go there, for God's sake!_

He almost flinched at his own inner voice and blinked. A somewhat shaky smile crossed his lips and he ran a hand over his face, surprised to find his eyes leaking. God no, not that, not now, Sam would be laughing his ass of if he ever—

But Sam was asleep, completely out of it. Apparently, being raised from the dead took a lot out of you.

He shoved those thoughts away and leaned back against the couch, listening to the even breathing behind him, studying the lax hand that was hanging over the edge of the couch, tracing the outlines of some muddy spot on the back of it, tuning his senses into the presence of his brother, _alive_ and breathing behind him, losing himself in the moment.

"He okay?"

The quiet voice shook him out of his musings. Who would have thought Bobby was still able to sneak up on him?

Dean jerked around to meet the older hunter's concerned eyes. From the look of it he hadn't been awake for long, the ever present trucker hat was still absent and he looked as if he'd just fallen out of bed. Dean didn't trust his voice enough to answer so he just nodded.

"Need anything?"

He knew the older man was checking on them to make sure they hadn't made a mistake last night by accepting it was really Sam who was back. He couldn't really blame him.

"No, thanks, Bobby, we're fine."

"You wake him up and get some breakfast, we need to talk."

Yeah, right, they needed to do that. As Bobby turned to leave, Dean grimaced and then sighed softly, turning back to the couch to wake Sam.

Who was squinting up at him sleepily from the pillow.

There was this moment when he didn't dare move, just looked at Sam, took in his brother's tired features. Sam blinked at him and didn't say anything either. Something unspoken passed between them, a tentative question Dean looked at his brother.

_You okay?_

Sam blinked again and seemed to think about it, then his eyes softened for a moment and he nodded slowly.

_Yeah._

"'m fine."

His voice was scratchy, sleepy, just like Sam sounded right after waking up, the usual, like always. To think he had lost this, if only for a few days had him fighting back angry tears and he found himself pulling back, trying to get distance between them, not wanting his brother to see how much it was still hurting him. So he settled for a simple nod, then couldn't stand it any longer and moved away from the couch, stretching his cramped back once he got to his feet.

"Come on, sleepy head, get up, you look like something even the cat wouldn't drag in."

Sam watched him for a moment, then slowly sat up, running a hand through hair that was sticking up in every possible direction. He glanced at the hand and then down at his T-shirt, mouth curling into a slight grimace which got even more pronounced as he sniffed at his shirt.

"Man, I stink…"

There were a hundred things Dean could say to that, jokes, teasing words that crossed his mind, would tumble out of his mouth in a heartbeat, but it felt strange so he settled for a non-committal,

"You take the first shower then…."

Sam gave him a still somewhat sleepy grin and got to his feet, shuffling toward the door. He was almost out, before turning suddenly, his gaze sweeping the room, looking for something.

"Where's my stuff?"

It took Dean a too-long moment to understand that question and another one to think about it, to remember that he hadn't yet taken Sam's backpack out of the car, that it would still be in the trunk, where it should be. The sudden realization that he'd almost had to take them out _forever _had him clearing his throat until he trusted his voice enough to choke out an answer.

"Trunk, they're in—in the trunk."

Sam cocked his head to the side when he stumbled over the words, but let it go, just gave him a small nod and then left. A moment later Dean could hear the front door open and he sank down onto the couch, burying his head into his hands, feeling so very much alone.

_Oh God…_

-0-

The boys were not okay. That's all Bobby could think as he puttered around his house.

It didn't take a mind reader to see that neither of them had really processed what had happened the night before. Neither Dean pretending to be all good nor Sam's 'reassuring' I'm-fine-smiles were fooling him into believing that everything was okay. Hell, he was still having a hard time himself understanding that Sam was back and not a friend— _son_ to mourn anymore, that, through whatever miracle the young man was standing next to them, breathing and taking tentative sips of the strongest coffee Bobby had ever drunk.

Sam looked better though; now that the once mud-stained hair was clean and he'd changed into fresh jeans and three layers of shirts he no longer looked like he'd gone up against a mud monster and lost. He was still moving with all the grace of a man at least twice his age and more than once he'd caught the younger man stretching his back or shaking his limbs as if he was trying to get used to moving in his body again. But then again maybe Sam had always been doing that and Bobby'd just never noticed since the kid'd never died before with his body fucking _burned_.

And maybe Bobby wasn't over that little detail either.

Dean was watching Sam like a hawk, Bobby had yet to see him separate from his brother's side, it seemed like he couldn't get comfortable if he wasn't in Sam's personal space. The younger man didn't seem to mind or even realize it, if anything he relaxed when Dean nudged him with an elbow or bumped against his shoulder. Sam seemed tense, was watching them with an expression that told him the younger man _knew_ something had changed, had happened, something he didn't know about, and not for the first time Bobby found himself wondering about how much Sam did remember about his resurrection.

As far as Bobby was concerned the night before had been more than just awkward; after Yellow Eyes and 'John' disappeared they'd all pretty much just left as fast as they could. The brothers had taken the backseat of the Impala, both of them too out of it to drive, and he'd gotten them back to his house as fast as he could. The drive had been silent, he'd found himself throwing glances at the rear view mirror every so often to watch as Sam slowly dozed off, leaning heavily against Dean's side until he finally fell asleep. Dean had been watching Sam with a weird expression twisting his features but would give Bobby a small grin whenever he became aware of his glances.

Once they'd arrived at his house Bobby ran done some tests on Sam, he just had to make sure it was indeed Dean's brother back with them. He thought Sam would mind them but he found the younger man really cooperative; he watched as Sam drank a whole glass of holy water, stepped three times over various salt-lines Bobby had lain out in front of him, endured no less than four exorcisms and even slurred half-heartedly through a fifth one himself as he fought visibly to stay awake. When the Japanese exorcism of a monk from roughly 1000 years ago only caused Sam to finally fall asleep on the couch, completely unfazed by the weird words Bobby was throwing his way, Ellen and Dean had finally stepped in, interrupting the older hunter and calling it a night.

So Sam was back, alive and kicking. That was a start.

And whatever the reason was for his return, Bobby couldn't stop smiling in relief whenever Sam met his eyes. That smile had died on his lips when they had gathered in the kitchen for breakfast.

The moment Ellen had seen Sam she gathered the unsuspecting Winchester into a tight embrace which left him gasping for air while she did her best to hug the stuffing out of him. When she'd finally become aware of the rather surprised look Dean had thrown her she muttered something under her breath that made all of them freeze for a second.

"Happy birthday, sweetheart."

The silence that followed had been the most deafening pause he ever heard.

He didn't know how Ellen knew but she had been right, it had been Sam's birthday the day before, the very day he'd been brought back from the dead.

The effect of that realization on Dean had been hard to miss. The older Winchester had paled visibly and all but frozen for a moment before finally mumbling about having forgotten something in the car and then hurriedly excusing himself. Sam's worried gaze wouldn't leave his brother until the door had closed behind him and then he'd turned a rather helpless look on Bobby who nudged Ellen softly and then steered her into the kitchen while Sam followed his brother outside. Ellen had given him an apologetic grin but hadn't said a word about it while they searched his fridge for something that would pass as a half-decent breakfast.

That had been almost two hours ago and they hadn't heard anything from the boys yet.

Yes, they were both adults, two of the best hunters he'd ever met, grown men absolutely capable of looking after themselves. He knew that. And he also knew they would bite his head off for what he was about to do, but dammit, right about now he just couldn't care less.

The junkyard was quiet, nothing moved, there was no sound to be heard. The impala was still parked in front of the house so they still had to be around somewhere.

A familiar voice suddenly stopped him dead in his tracks.

"… and I have no idea how I did that, Dean…" Sam's voice was soft, strained; if Bobby didn't know better he would have thought the younger man sounded _scared_. He craned his neck, trying to get a look at them, but they were hidden behind the bulk of a half-rusted mini-van.

"You know, I'm just saying… you were seriously kicking that bastard's ass yesterday, how did you know how to do that?"

"I—uhm, I don't really know, it was… just… it came out of me, like with Max, when I was in that closet, you know? Just came out like a punch, I don't—didn't know…" Something in the soft voice made Bobby stop behind the van and he frowned slightly. He couldn't remember anything about a closet or somebody named 'Max', but then the boys didn't tell him every detail about every case.

For a moment he was lost in thought and Dean's voice was so low he almost didn't hear him. "Maybe we can use that… Turn this… this… _power_ against him—"

In contrast to his brother Sam's voice was strong now, determined as he cut his brother off. "No."

"Look, Sam—"

"No, okay? Just… no." Bobby could almost see the shaggy hair flying in every direction as he imagined how Sam would shake his head to emphasize his point.

"Sam…" Dean sounded as if he was trying to calm him down, make him see something Sam didn't want to realize, but once again the younger brother cut in, interrupting him.

"Look, I don't know how I did that, okay? I don't know what the hell that was, I just… I just know I shouldn't—I won't do that again, okay? Ever." His voice had risen with every word until at the last word he was all but shouting.

"What happened to you, Sam, what did he do to you?"

"What?"

"I'm not blind, something happened to you and you're terrified, I've never seen you like… like _this_ before, what did that bastard do to you?"

There was a soft, almost disbelieving laugh from Sam, before he answered in a pained voice, "You mean besides having me killed?"

"I—Sam…" Even from where he was standing hidden from them he could almost see Dean wince, but maybe that had something to do with the fact that he'd cringed as well at the soft words. Before he could decide how to react, what to do, Sam was speaking again, voice so low the older hunter almost missed the words. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have… I'm sorry."

There was a long pause and he could hear one of them move, slow steps which led away from him, but he couldn't tell whom they belonged to.

"Look, Sam, I know you've been through He—It was hard, okay? Yellow Eyes, Jake, he—he stabbed you and you died and that son of a bitch got you back and I can't really be mad at him for that but I know I should and I just need to know what he did to you, okay? Please?" This had to be one of about three times he'd heard Dean beg for anything, he almost didn't recognize the pleading voice, was shocked to hear the underlying note of desperation clinging to it. Dammit, he had to get out there, had to do something to help them—

"He didn't do anything to me… that night… he showed me something…"

"What?"

There was a pause and Bobby froze; he could almost _feel_ Sam's hesitation wash over him, could literally sense how the younger man fought against whatever was keeping him back. Something was off, so very wrong it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up and he braced himself, determined to get out there, help them through it.

His feet refused to move.

Dean's voice was softer now. "What did he show you, Sammy?"

This was wrong, he shouldn't be doing this, he should not be _spying_ on the boys, he had no right to do that. And still his feet didn't move.

Sam's voice was hard to make out amid the familiar background noises of the yard and he didn't realize he was holding his breath to keep as quiet as possible. "That night when Mom… when she died… he was there, he was in the—in my nursery, at my bed." If possible the pained voiced dropped even lower. "He—he was doing something… to me…"

There was another long pause. No movement could be heard but Bobby didn't really need to see them to picture how Sam would squirm under Dean's gaze, avoiding his eyes in any way he could while Dean had his arms crossed in front of his chest and was all but staring his younger brother down. He wondered for a moment just when he had gotten so used to having them around that he no longer needed to—

"He was giving me his blood…"

Bobby froze and from Dean's choked off voice he was sure the older Winchester was just as shocked about those quietly whispered words as he was.

_What?_

"What?"

"He was bleeding into the baby's—my mouth… I—I have demon blood in me, Dean…"

Bobby had been around the boys when their father had died a year ago, he had seen them the night before when some demon had ripped their world apart and he had looked after them when a poltergeist hadn't played fair and called for backup and the resulting ambush had left both of them beaten within an inch of their life in some deserted warehouse. He'd always been pretty sure he'd seen both of them at their lowest but the misery, if not plain _fear_ in Sam's voice took his breath away. The kid was terrified and if what he'd just heard was true he had every reason to feel that way.

What the hell had that bastard done to him?

Dean seemed at a loss for words, there was no sound from him.

Another pause followed, but this time Bobby wasn't aware of the passing time, too shocked by the revelation.

"You think that's what Dad meant?" Sam was barely audible, thoughtful. "You think that's why he told you to… you know, kill me? You think he knew? About the blood? About everything?"

He wasn't really listening at first, still too caught up in his thoughts, so he didn't understand what Sam was saying, or rather mumbling to himself. But when the words finally registered—_John told him to what??_—he could barely breathe, couldn't really process what he was hearing. This was a joke. Had to be, there was no way any of that could be true, the boys had realized he was listening and were playing a joke on him. The weirdest, not-funny-at-all joke he'd ever heard, but a joke nonetheless. It couldn't be true.

John would never—he just wouldn't—

_Would he?_

"Sam, stop, okay? Stop that. Dad wouldn't—he didn't tell me to kill you, you know that!" Dean sounded as appalled by Sam's words as Bobby was feeling.

Sam sounded as miserable as he'd ever heard him. "But what if he knew, Dean? What if he knew what I was going to become?"

"What you were going to become? Sam, you haven't become anything, okay? You're still you, you hear me?"

"But Dean—"

"No, Sam, enough, I won't allow that son of a bitch to do that to you, not any longer! Whatever that was… whatever you did yesterday doesn't make you anything, okay?"

"I—Dean, I don't know…"

It was the quiet, dejected voice that sounded nothing like Sam at all which had Bobby open his mouth before he could stop himself. "This stops, right now."

He stilled, couldn't have moved even if his life had depended on it. The boys had fallen silent, he could hear neither of them move, couldn't make out anything besides a quiet gasp.

And then he stepped around the mini-van and into their line of sight, met Sam's terrified eyes staring at him out of a pale face. The younger hunter looked as if he was about to bolt, just run away from him, apparently utterly horrified over the fact Bobby _knew_. Dean was watching him with a worried frown; before he could say anything at all the older brother was already moving, stepping between them, the worry slowly turning into an uncertain, anxious frown.

"Bobby—"

And then he exploded. "You stupid, _stupid_ sons of bitches, how could you do that? Huh? How could you not tell me something like that??"

He knew he was shouting, felt almost—almost—sorry for how Sam all but jumped back from him at his outburst, the scared eyes growing even larger, but dammit, this was too much. He was angry, downright furious at those idjits for keeping that from him, for not telling him. How could they have done that, how could they not have told him something important—_horrible_ like this?

"Bobby—"

Dean tried again, but couldn't get more words out when he turned to him, regarding the older Winchester with a warning glance as he growled, "No, you shut up now, Dean. I cannot believe this,. Why on earth would you keep something like this from me? Your idjit of a father tells you to kill your brother and you don't tell me? Are you insane?"

Dean winced and behind him Sam dropped his gaze, swallowing thickly, looking everywhere but at him. Bobby could see he was hurting them, that his harsh words were not the right thing to say nor the right approach, but he didn't care, couldn't stop himself from fixing Dean with an angry scowl. "He really tell you to do that?"

Dean couldn't hold his gaze, settled for staring at something on Bobby's shoulder as he nodded, his face a miserable grimace.

Bobby forced himself to take a deep breath, silently counting to five, before he looked at Sam, then back at Dean, fighting to keep his voice steady. "We need to talk."

They would talk. And demon or not, if he ever saw the face of John Winchester again only one of them would be left to care for the boys.


	2. Chapter 2

PART TWO

Sam stared holes in the back of his laptop screen. He would have preferred drilling them into Dean's skull but the coward was hiding behind said laptop, nonchalantly typing away while purposefully ignoring his brother. They'd had this discussion before, neither giving an inch in their stubbornness. It had been a week since Sam had come back from the dead, had been _brought_ back by the Yellow Eyed Demon, and their dad... Sam still couldn't wrap his head around what he had seen that night, what had happened. His thoughts were just as convoluted as they had been six days earlier. And Dean wanted to go back on the hunt. But not _the_ hunt, any hunt, a normal, run-off-the-mill job if that type of thing even existed anymore.

True, neither of them had been able to dig up a lead or even the faintest trace of Yellow Eyes or the demon that posed as their dad. Sam still refused to believe, to really believe the demon in their father's body could truly be what was left of their dad after a year in hell. Somehow the mighty John Winchester, meanest damn demon hunter in the States and bull-headed as they come, had always been larger than life to Sam. They'd fought tooth and nail over the most trivial things for the majority of Sam's teenage years and had been able to hurt each other like only family could but that didn't mean Sam didn't respect his old man, that he didn't think highly of his skills, sharp intellect and fierce, unbending heart. It was just his parental skills Sam doubted or his willingness to find compromises in a world that seemed much more grey than black and white. Hell certainly was no walk in the park; Sam had no illusions about the real deal being far worse than his wildest imagination but they were

talking about a man whose beloved wife had been slaughtered in her infant son's nursery by a demon, a demon who possessed him a year ago to kill his own son, the very demon he had so willingly followed in the graveyard in Wyoming. So how could Sam ever accept that his dad was in league with this _demon_ ,was also a demon?--

Sam forced his thoughts back on track, fact was they didn't know where the demon, or demons, were or what they were up to. None of their intensive research over the past couple of days had turned up anything substantial. Of course Sam was having trouble concentrating which totally messed with his ability to research anything. He really wanted to stretch out on the couch and close his eyes, regroup. The last thing he felt up to, at least mentally, was heading off on another hunt. A stranger in his own skin, Sam hadn't figured out yet whether it was an after-effect of dying or of the power surge or maybe both. Furthermore, he felt exhausted, bone-deep exhausted. Dean, of course, insisted that his little brother was simply getting rusty from slacking around too much, that a good, old-fashioned hunt would bring him up to speed in no time. Sam wasn't so sure; he wasn't even sure if Dean believed his words himself. He rather suspected his big brother was so badly in need of a distraction from this hunt, the awkward conversations, the even more awkward silences when there were no conversations that he was willing to tackle any job presenting itself, lugging his brother along in his mad escape from his own thoughts. Yeah, Dean's mind was a scary place at the best of times. And now more so than ever.

Sam immediately snapped out of his thoughts as a hand waved inches from his face. His head whipped up and for the first time he realized that his older brother was snapping his fingers in front of Sam's eyes, and by the look on his face, not for the first time.

"Hey, Sammy. You totally zoned out on me." To Sam's surprise, Dean looked more concerned than miffed. "Is everything alright with you? You had that far-away look again. I swear you haven't heard a word I said."

"Huh?" Sam stared at him blankly.

"I was looking for a hunt, remember? That's what we do, hunt."

"I was just...," Sam began, then thought better of it. "Never mind."

"So, I discovered this possible job--"

"Dean," Sam hesitated. "Don't you think we have, I don't know, maybe bigger fish--"

"Sam," Dean warned, "don't go there. We have found zip, zilch, nada on either the Yellow Eyed Bastard or Dad yet. Not even Bobby heard so much as a breath about it from any hunter he's contacted. So, as long as you don't have any more leads worth pursuing, I suggest we do our job."

"Dean, I know how you're feeling, man."

"No, you really don't," Dean replied tersely, the temperature in the room seemingly dropping by a good dozen degrees.

"Then tell me," Sam pleaded.

The stone-cold look Dean gave him was enough to shut his brother up instantly. "There is nothing to talk about, Sammy. Leave it at that." He turned to the laptop again, busily scanning through files though Sam knew he wasn't really reading any of the things on the screen.

After a few minutes of chilly silence, Dean interjected with the most casual voice, "Here in Boston a guy swears up and down that he saw Batman pay the local mobster a visit. Batman, can you believe that?" He brother bounced with excitement.

"Dude..." Sam stared at Dean with exasperation. Anger flared inside him. Why couldn't Dean for the life of him approach any subject like the grown man and able hunter that he was? As soon as their lives became complicated--okay, more so than usual--his big brother tried to ignore the matter or run as fast as he could in the other direction. Sam hadn't even dared broach the subject that really burned a hole into his soul.

He had died. Dead. Gone. Apart from the Yellow Eyed Demon's involvement in his resurrection, what did that mean for him? Where had he been? These last few days were filled with confusion and doubts, and the only person who was strong enough to help him lift that burden, who could shed a light onto what exactly had happened to him, was studiously steering clear of any attempt at really talking. Instead Dean had grabbed Sam's computer when he'd refused to go look for alternative hunts. It didn't matter that Sam told him time and again that he didn't feel up to hunting yet; and maybe it wasn't even the actual cases Dean was searching for but a way to avoid the pink elephant giving its little-swan impression in the middle of Bobby's exceptional library.

-0-

Bobby leaned against the door jamb and stared into the living room. He wasn't trying for stealth—if one of the brothers would just look up they'd spot him right off the bat, arms crossed tight with disapproval. They were at it again. They couldn't be in the same room for more than five minutes without picking at each other.

But really, what the hell was Dean thinking? Neither Winchester was up to snuff yet. Going on a hunt in their current condition was just begging for trouble. Trouble that the boys didn't need to ask for since trouble seemed to have their number and was following them around like a puppy.

One of the phones in the kitchen trilled out and Bobby grudgingly pushed away from the wall. He had enough on his plate without someone trying to add another heaping helping. Snatching at the phone, Bobby snapped out his usual greeting, "Singer Salvage."

"Singer, it's Sears. I'm outside of Chicago and heard The Roadhouse went kablooie. What in the hell is going on, and in Nebraska no less?"

Eyes closed momentarily as Bobby identified the caller as Ed Sears. Everything about the guy was big. Big hands that handled knives like nobody's business. Big gut that announced his arrival in a room well before the rest of his body could be seen. And big mouth. The kind of booming voice that made Bobby's head ache even thinking about it.

Although right now, he didn't have to think about it. This wasn't a Memorex recording where he could turn down the volume. Loud, obnoxious, and abrasive was live and yelping in his ear.

Sighing loudly, Bobby tried to contain his irritation. Sears might have a big mouth but he also had a big heart and sounded genuinely concerned. "Yeah, Sears, you heard right. The Roadhouse is out of commission."

It was hard to keep up with the questions that burst out of Sears mouth like bullets spraying out of a machine gun. "And I talked to a few of the guys over here and we want you to coordinate our efforts, you know, with the demons that were let loose. You're got the expertise and your home base hasn't been blown up yet so what do you say?"

The gist of it seemed to be that Sears was making Bobby the go-to guy. Something about many of the hunters regarding Bobby as a good tactician and cordinator, especially when it came to demons. When the babble slowed from Sears' lips, Bobby's brain kicked into high gear. Focusing on that all important word. "What are you talking about. What demons? What have you heard?"

The voice on the other end of the line was vibrating with impatience. And with each word, the volume intensified. "Jesus, Singer, haven't you listened to a word I've said? The demons in Wyoming! Except now they aren't just in Wyoming, they're spreading through the whole country. And that youngest Winchester kid...heard something was going on with him. Maybe that he had something to do with it, too. Do you know where he is? I think maybe some hunters oughta talk to him."

"Listen to me, Sears, and listen to me good. The Winchesters don't know nothing about no damn demons. You leave them kids alone. If you can't put that notion out of your head, don't bother calling back here again. Now get out there and see what the other hunters are hearing. I can't coordinate nothin' unless you lazy sons of bitches give me some intel."

Sears was busy apologizing and making promises and then Bobby was barking out his goodbye and disconnecting the call.

Other hunters thought Sam had somehow had something to do with the events in Wyoming. The only people who knew Sam had been there were himself, Ellen, Dean and Sam and none of them had breathed a word of what had happened.

So it wasn't people who'd put that word out there, but something else. Something like the Yellow Eyed Demon probably. But for what possible reason?

Bobby didn't like how this whole thing was shaping up. A whole passel of demons escaped from hell at large. And he liked it even less that Dean and Sam were at the center of things.

Then there was one dark eyed demon wearing John Winchester like a prom suit and that image wouldn't leave Bobby's brain alone. Maybe John, or the thing masquerading as him, was trying to flush the boys out.

Damn Winchesters. Should've slammed the door on John the first time he showed up on his porch with two young boys in tow.

Raised voices pelted him from the living room, every bit as loud as Big Ed Sears. Bobby dragged a tired hand over his face before leaving the kitchen. He hoped the brothers didn't draw blood on each other. He'd dealt with enough drama for one day. Week. Month. Year.

-0-

Bobby had done his best to get the brothers to separate a while but Dean didn't feel like he could wait anymore. Something inside of him was telling him to move on, and take Sam with him.

Dean waited until he had Sam's full attention. Well at least until large, weary, blood shot eyes stared back at him from across Bobby's scarred kitchen table. That was about as good as he was going to get from Sam at this point but he'd take it. "Three people, Sammy. In Hungry Horse, Montana. I've never heard of deer trampling people. And three? No way. And no survivors. There's something to this. We need to check it out. "

Dean waited a beat for Sam's interest to kick in. His little brother never could resist a good mystery and he also loved animals. Maybe not deer, per se, but Sam was a tree hugger. This hunt should have been appealing to him on all sorts of fronts.

Instead of interest Dean was pretty sure Sam stifled a yawn. Ignoring the urge to snap his fingers or wave his hand in front of Sam's face, Dean channeled his Marine father's authoritative voice, "Sam, you following any of this?"

His brother's head bobbed up and down but Dean sensed it was more from route than actually responding. This apathy was severely straining Dean's nerves and he wanted, no needed, to get Sam out. If they just jumped into a job, Dean knew Sam would snap back.

It took Sam so long to reply, that Dean almost forget the question he'd asked. "Three people. Deer. Montana."

A face filled with exhaustion instead of curiousity stared back at Dean. Sam's voice dragged as well. Dean knew people who suffered catastrophic illness or injury oftentimes became clinically depressed and wondered what happened if a person died and came back to life...were they susceptible to depression? As far as Dean knew, Sam was in a catergory all by himself and no amount of research was going to help him find the answer. So he pressed on. Doing something had to be better than sitting around and looking at the walls. Getting Sam up and around, keeping him busy, might stave off the depression that threatened his brother.

Dean's eyes narrowed as he stared back at Sam. The kid was pale. Anemic looking. Not at all like normal. The fresh air and sunshine they'd find in Montana on this case would do his brother good.

Sam's lip threated a pout. If Sam stuck out that lower lip and blinked his eyes at Dean like he'd done when he was four years old, Dean was a goner. He needed to harden his heart. "The number of animal attacks in the past couple of days has surpassed the number in the whole previous year. It's weird, Sammy. Our kind of weird."

Sam dragged a hand tiredly through his hair and returned Dean's stare. "You mentioned deer. Any attacks by horses?"

Sam had asked an unprompted question. Maybe his interest had been captured after all. Dean refused to let out the smile threatening to split his lips. He needed Sam to buy into this hunt and he knew his brother well enough to know he would balk if pushed too hard. He'd seen it happen enough in the past. It used to really get his old man's goat, the way Sam could dig his heels in and refuse to budge.

His old man. Why was he thinking about his dad now? That was a subject that needed to stay locked up tight. Dean could only handle one crisis at a time and getting Sam moving in the right direction was taking everything he had right now. "No, I didn't read anything about horses. Why?"

With a slight shrug of his shoulders and an upward quirk of his lips, Sam answered, "Maybe the town might want to think about changing its name from Hungry Horse to Hungry Deer."

A joke. Not even a very funny one. Ordinarily Dean would have been amused. Sam had a sly sense of humor that usually tickled Dean's funny bone. But this time Dean's temper flared. "You think this is funny? People are dying. What the hell is wrong with you?"

The vehemonce of Dean's response took them both aback. Sam's eyes widened and blinked slowly at him, mouth working but not producing sound. Dean found himself on his feet and was thankful that the table separated them. He didn't like the way Sam cringed back as he rose to his feet. Like he might actually do Sam some violence.

Dean sank back into the hard backed chair and studied the scratches in the table's surface. He concentrated on steadying his breathing. A hand patted gently at his forearm and then withdrew. Concerned eyes peeked at Dean from beneath shaggy hair as he lifted his head. "What's this hunt to you? Why is this so important? You're talking about a more than 14 hour drive. Can't we just..." Sam's voice trailed off with the half shoulder shrug, the gesture replacing the rest of the thought. Sam was too damn tired to even bother to explain what he was thinking.

Rage surged past the concern, pushing Dean's heartrate up, increasing his respirations. He jumped back to his feet and found himself pacing across the worn tile floor. "Can't we just what, Sam? Hide out here at Bobby's and sleep the days away? The world isn't just going to stop and wait for us until we're ready. We need to get ourselves ready. Now. Before something worse happens."

He was so consumed by the need to move he didn't hear Sam approach him. Hands perched lightly on his shoulders, staying his movement. Dean wanted to shake them off but Sam's face was right in front of him, eyes moist and beseeching. "Can't we take a little time for ourselves? Maybe figure out what's going on? Yellow Eyes is still out there and then there's..." Sam swallowed nervously as Dean stared hard at him, daring him to say the name aloud. Sam's hands dropped from Dean's shoulders and he stepped back, wrapping his arms around his middle. "I can't think straight, Dean. I just need a little time."

Sam looked so vulnerable and lost, standing quietly. Waiting. Dean almost pulled the kid into a hug—Sam was the touchy-feely one and ever since Wyoming, Sam had stuck close—but something held Dean back. One of them had to remain clear headed and in control of their feelings.

Frustrated with both their current situation and the conversation, Dean's stomach tightened uncomfortably. He knew if he offered to do the hunt solo, that Sam would cave immediately. As much as he wanted to take charge, he couldn't browbeat Sam into submission. Not with his brother looking so forlorn.

Dean gave in to his urge to comfort Sam, hands latching on to his brother and drawing him near. Instantly his stomach calmed. "Do you trust me?" Teeth nervously sunk into his lower lip but Sam nodded his assent. "I swear, Sam, I'm not gonna let anything else happen to you. But we don't have the luxury of waiting. We need to jump back into the game. You with me?"

Sam's lower lip was chapped and near bleeding from his continued gnawing and his face was set in a deep frown, unhappy grooves carving into the sides of the face where the dimples should have been. Dean couldn't remember the last time Sam had smiled and it didn't look like the near future held much in the way of happiness for him either. Happiness was overrated. It was more important that they keep moving, that he keep Sam safe.

Curving his hand behind Sam's neck, Dean kneaded the taught muscles absently. When Sam's eyelids began to droop and his face grew lax, Dean stopped rubbing and patted him gently on the cheek. "Go get your stuff. You can sleep in the car."

A blank stare met his words. Dean gave Sam a light shove toward the door and felt the tension drain from his body as Sam moved into the living room and began gathering his things together.

It bothered Dean that Sam hadn't really argued that hard for staying. Hadn't really said much at all.

This trip to Montana was just the ticket to get them both back on target. That was the plan and despite the lurch his stomach gave, Dean was sticking with it.

-0-

Bobby's hand half lifted in acknowledgment as Dean gave a jaunty wave, the Impala spraying gravel in its wake.

This hunt in Montana had to be the worst idea ever but Bobby had held his tongue once he'd seen Dean's mind was made up. Sam, a pale shadow ghosting after Dean, remained quiet throughout the preparations for departure.

"You know this is a really bad idea, right?" Ellen's voice, deep and no nonsense, tickled his ear.

"Yup. Really bad idea. Even bad for a Winchester." Bobby tried for amusement but it fell flat before Ellen's searching eyes.

Ellen plowed on, heedless of Bobby's silent wish that she let the subject drop. "Then you probably already know that they're running. I don't know if it's running scared or just throwing themselves headlong into danger as a distraction but something lit a match to their keisters."

Resignation colored Bobby's sigh. Ellen wouldn't let this drop. Maybe he should have asked her to persuade the boys into staying. "I suppose I could've tied them up but that would only hold them for so long. Dean's itching to get back on the road and the one person who could've talked some sense into him is spinning off his axis. God, those two give me heartburn."

Ellen snorted in agreement. "I don't know which one of 'em is worse off. Dean won't talk about what happened—practically has denial stamped on his forehead—and Sam's still reeling from Cold Oak. And Wyoming. Poor kid forgot his own birthday. A pretty big one if you figure he almost didn't get to celebrate it."

Bobby was at a loss. If he'd had something on Azazel, or John, or even the demons that had escaped from the gate, Bobby could have persuaded the brothers to stay. But he had jack.

That's right, he had jack.

"It's 5 o'clock somewhere so let's go grab that bottle of Jack I've got tucked away. That beats standing around here worrying about them two blockheads." Maybe it was too early to start drinking, but damn it, Dean and Sam and their moods were driving Bobby to it.

Ellen linked her arm casually through Bobby's. "That's definitely the best offer I've had all day. Maybe we could play poker, too. I gotta start making some money if I ever want to open another bar."

The comment was supposed to be playful but with all of the loss—Ellen's livelihood, the patrons and her friends—it was a stark reminder of what they were all up against.


	3. Chapter 3

PART THREE

Sam had conked out within twenty minutes of hitting the road and Dean wanted to ignore the flutter of unease in his stomach that caused but couldn't.

They were just outside of Hungry Horse on day two of their trek. His brother was, again, sleeping in the passenger seat. Sam wasn't bouncing back as quick as he wanted (_needed_) but Dean thought (_hoped_) this trip would put him on the right track. Snatching the Rolaid softchews off the dashboard, Dean shoved the last two in his mouth. He wished he could wipe out whatever was bothering Sam as easily as he could quell the burn in his stomach.

Reaching out his right hand, Dean settled it softly on Sam's left shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "Hey, dopey, time to rise and shine."

Dean was expecting a slow wake up, hands fisting slowly blinking eyes. What he got was Sam exploding upright in his seat, eyes wide with confusion and panic, grasping hard onto Dean's arm. "My eyes...are they black?"

There was no one behind them on US-2 but Dean put the turn signal on out of habit as he guided the Impala to the side of the road with this left hand. His right hand was being held hostage in Sam's bruising grip. "Sammy, it's okay. There's nothing wrong with your eyes. We're on our way to Montana, remember? Sam? You with me?"

Sam's breath was puffing his chest up and down as he frantically gulped in air, his eyes roaming around the interior the car, not stopping, always searching. Dean twisted in his seat, breaking Sam's hold on his arm. Now that he had the use of both hands, he cradled Sam's face, forcing his head to still, halting the frenetic searching. Urging Sam to see what was in front of him.

His brother's posture slumped down until Dean was staring levelly at Sam's bloodshot, not black, eyes. Sam made a concerted effort to bring his breathing under control, staring unblinkingly at Dean. "Was I dreaming?"

The strained, soft quality of his brother's voice made Dean want to pull him into a hug, like he'd done when Sam was a toddler. But Sam wasn't a toddler. He was a newly back-from-the-dead adult and Dean wasn't sure what to do. He reached into his bag of tricks and went with the tried and true, big brother swagger. "According to you, dreaming is lollipops and candcanes. For me it would be a curvey red head in a king size bed with nothing on, inviting me to join her. I'd say what you were having was a nightmare. "

Sam leaned away from his touch, his eyes gravitating toward the front windshield. Dean let him move away, but not too far. There was a glaze to Sam's eyes that Dean didn't like but his skin had been cool to the touch. "We're here already?"

Turning his head, Dean saw the sign proclaiming Hungry Horse was at the next exit. Dean wanted to say something snappy, like nothing got past his genius brother, but his heart wasn't in it. "We're here. You slept most of the way. You feel like seeing if the good Sheriff is around to answer our questions or do you want to grab a room first?"

Sam's right palm ground into his eye and his other hand clapped over his mouth, staving off a yawn. Dean willed Sam to show some enthusiam, a tiny spark, toward the reason they were in Montana. "Do you think the Sheriff will offer us some coffee?"

Dean could've given a whoop of delight but instead settled for grinning. "Okay, let's do it."

The county run sherriff's department was in Kalispell, about thirty mintues away, but while doing reconnisaince Sam had discovered there was usually a man stationed at the Hungry Horse Police Station which happened to be located around the corner from what passed as the main drag. A population of less than 2,000 people—down at least eleven since the animal attacks began—wouldn't have much in the way of a police force. Dean only hoped they had coffee.

Grabbing up the badges he'd made up last night in their motel room, Dean pinned one to Sam's jacket lapel before securing his own on. Sam didn't even bother to check out the names,either trusting in Dean's work or too tired to care. Dean beat Sam to the door and opened it up, ushering his little brother inside with a slight push at his lower back. Sam's hair was sticking up at all angles, bedhead achieved without the bed, so Dean hoped the sheriff didn't get a load of his brother's hairstyle. It definitely belied the professional image they were trying to project. Not that Dean really knew Wildlife Control even had a professional image to uphold. Dean licked his palm and smoothed down some of the more wild strands standing out on end.

Sam glared at him. "That's beyond gross. Don't ever do that again."

Dean smiled benignly at his brother. It was good to see even a little of Sammy's fire. Now if only he could direct that into the hunt. And staying awake. "Maybe you oughta get your hair cut then."

Shooting past the still glowering Sam, Dean moved toward the desk in the middle of the room. There appeared to be only one person on duty and that person was sitting behind the desk. "I'm Simmons with Professional Wildlife Control Service and this is my partner, Stanley. Is the Flathead County Sheriff on duty right now? We'd like to have a word with him."

The man, a really tall man with a battle weary look on his face and dark hair that tumbled around his face with cowlicks all over the place stuck out his hand. "I'm Frehley. What can I do for you?"

Sam sputtered and Dean pounded him on the back. A snort escaped as Sam clapped his hand over his mouth and coughed to cover his laughter. Dean was able to contain himself only by not looking his brother in the eye. Frehley? He wondered if maybe Peter Criss was lurking in the back of the station, ready to make the Kiss reunion complete.

With a sweep of his arm, Frehley invited them to sit in the metal folding chairs across from his desk. There was no spark of name recognition and Dean could only hope the sheriff knew more about what was going on in Hungry Horse than he did classic rock bands. "We're here to investigate the animal attacks in the area. What can you tell us about them?"

The sheriff sat back in his comfortable looking leather chair and took a long sip of coffee from a styrofoam cup. Sam's nose twitched appreciatively at the aroma but their host didn't offer them any. Instead, he cut right to the chase. "I've got to say, each case in and of itself isn't too much to get excited about. Animals fight back when they feel they, or their territory is threatened. But it's the number of attacks, and the types of animals doing the attacking, that makes this kind of interesting."

Sam's arms were crossed, denoting his unhappiness over not being offered coffee, but he kept his tone even. "Can you tell us more about these attacks? The deer herd taking apart the three hikers seems pretty tough to top."

Frehley's lips pulled into a scowl. He glared at Sam for a moment but when Sam refused to break eye contact, the man gave in. "I'll tell you what tops that one. The rabbits."

Dean shot a glance at Sam afraid another bubble of laughter was going to emerge. Dean was sure having a hard time maintaining his own composure. Between Sheriff Frehley and his awesome bedhead and now rabbits, Dean was beginning to think this hunt was a no go. His stomach gave another flutter and his good humor disappeared.

Frehley continued, "Joss Wyland was hiking in the foothills and as far as we can tell, he was attacked by a nest of rabbits. At least that's what forensics came up with."

"Excuse me, wouldn't that be a husk of hares?" Dean turned incredulous eyes on his brother. Not only was Sam dueling with the sheriff over messy hairstyles and caffeine, now he was trying to one up him with his grasp of the English language. Dean gave his brother his best _what the fuck_ look and was pleased when Sam settled back in the crappy metal chair, suitably chastised.

The sheriff actually smiled for the first time since they walked into the station. "You've got style, Stanley. And I admire your sense of humor. Can I offer you boys a cup of coffee?"

Sam instantly perked up and Dean thought for a moment his brother was going to hug the man.

This was more like it. Pursuing the leads. Not taking every stupid thing they came across so seriously. Just being.

A warm styrofoam cup was thrust into his hand and Dean cautiously took a sip. Black and strong and just the way he liked it.

"As I was saying, the number of attacks we've had in the last two weeks has outpaced what we had all of last year. In the last two days, we've had the rabbit incident as well as wild boars running amok, taking out a bunch of campers, and a mountain lion that got another hiker. That one has what none of the other cases had to offer, a survivor. Let me get a map and I'll show you were the attacks occurred."

Sam was clutching his cup, mouth turned up in happiness, cheeks aglow as he sipped the strong brew. He waggled his eyebrows at his brother and Dean grinned back.

His little brother had always had a knack for winning people over, but this might be the first time that challenging someone over their word usage had gained them their cooperation.

Dean knew there was a reason he kept Sammy around. The entertainment value alone was worth it.

-0-

After securing a room at the Mini Golden Inns motel, the best lodging in the area according to Sheriff Frehly, Dean hustled Sam back into the Impala and headed for North Valley Hospital, about 17 miles away in Whitefish. The plan was to interview the lone survivor of the animal attacks, Mr. Busch, age 36.

The coffee had temporarly perked Sam up but the fading daylight showed that the color was seeping from Sam's skin again, leaving him pale. After the interview Dean vowed to get Sam some good food and then settle him in for the night. He'd done more today, what with making the trip to Hungry Horse and interviewing the sheriff, than he'd done since they'd limped back to Bobby's after the events in Wyoming.

The sheriff had been true to his word and called ahead, letting the staff know that Officers Simmons and Stanley from Professional Wildlife Control Service would be there to speak with Mr. Busch. Dean watched with one eye on the very pretty, very perky Vicky, RN, who showed them to Busch's private room while the other eye studied Sam, whose face had assumed the faraway look of a sleepwalker again.

Dean not so subtley deposited Sam in a chair while he made the introductions to Mr. Busch, whose right leg was stretched and placed in a pulley system above the bed and whose neck was restrained by a brace. That didn't even begin to cover all of the gouges and scratches littering his exposed skin. "I know you've been over this before, but could you please tell us again about what happened to you Mr. Busch?"

"Please, call me Barry." The man looked down at his hands folded on his chest which was good because it gave Dean a moment to digest his name. Barry Busch. It must have been hell on the kid, a name like that. A look toward his brother showed that Sam was sporting a wan smile. His energy was flagging as quickly as the color in his face but at least he was with it enough to appreciate their witness' name.

In a halting voice, Barry started his tale. "We were up on the pass, me and Harley, Joe and George, talking about what a great day it was to be outside. Harley and his wife had been fighting and he was happy to get away for a while." Barry looked up and made eye contact with Dean and frowned, dissatisfied with whatever he found on Dean's face. Dean was trying to use his empathetic look but something must have been lacking. Barry's eyes wandered over to Sam who was looking sick to his stomach and that must have been the look Barry wanted to see because he nodded his head before continuing on. "It came out of nowhere! One minute we were standing there, laughing, and the next this huge thing was hurtling through the air, knocked Harley clear off the outcropping."

Barry's attention was now completely on Sam and Dean turned so his little brother would be easily within his view, too. Sam had a nauseous look about him and he was clutchng his stomach. Dean knew it had nothing to do with the story Barry was telling; Sam was the one who usually got stuck on autopsy duty and he'd not only heard about much worse, he'd seen it up close and personal without spilling his cookies. His brother's stomach gave a grumble and Dean realized the kid was starving. Fortunately Barry didn't hear it and continued his story for the more sympathetic Sam. "I'm not proud of it but I ran. I can't believe I left the guys there but my instinct was to get out and I listened. I thought I'd made it when I was tackled from behind. Mountain lion had me pinned down and there was nothing to do. I don't know what happened but the lion just took off." Barry's face was buried in his hands, no easy feat with that contraption around his neck. "I guess I was screaming my head off because a large group of hikers came running along the path. They got me out." Barry peeked between his splayed fingers at Sam, almost whispering, "but there wasn't enough left of the guys to even fill a body bag."

Sam, hand still cradling his stomach, rose to his feet. "So why do you think the lion came after you and your friends?"

"The authorities believe we provoked the lion somehow and the big group of hunters scared him off. I've never heard of lions attacking in this part of the country. I don't know what to think. I just miss my friends." Barry's attention was back on his hands which were twisting nervously.

Dean opened his mouth but Sam beat him to the punch. "Did you happen to notice anything strange before the attack? Maybe hear or smell something that seemed out of place to you?"

Barry latched on to Sam's question with all he had. "I thought I heard a faint neigh in the distance. Didn't think much of it because horses are so common in the area. Do you think it was a horse that spooked the mountain lion?"

Sam wasn't the only one exhausted by the day's events, Barry's eyes were beginning to close. Dean let Sam say their goodbyes and then they made their way out into the hallway. Sam turned to him. "So what do you think?"

Just then Sam's stomach gave a hellacious growl and his brother grimaced. Dean patted him on the shoulder. "I think it's past time for your feeding, that's what I think. Frehley told me to try out the Huckleberry Patch, it's just down the road from our motel. Let's get a move on it before you start scaring the locals."

His brother shook his head but didn't try to dislodge Dean's touch.

The hunt was shaping up pretty damn well in Dean's opinion. If you discounted the fact that they didn't know why animals were going on the rampage. Tomorrow they'd take another crack at it. But first, food.

-0-

Ted Noonan walked through his garden. It had been warm enough by late mid morning to move his pride and joy, his guinea pigs, out of the heated pole barn and into the outdoor compound. He knew they were bred to withstand cold temperatures but he couldn't bear the thought of them being uncomfortable. It was really just a pen with water and food feeders but Ted had done his best to make it homey. He'd put down sawdust, enought to coat the pen, and was always on the lookout for things that would make his pets more comfortable. Like the elaborate stairwell and lookout deck he'd built. Nothing was too good for his pets.

He knew his children thought he was a silly old man but now that Maggie had died, he found comfort in the small critters. His children meant well but they'd scattered all over the country. The guinea pigs were completely dependent upon him and they weren't going anywhere. And they were very sweet, demure animals that didn't give him any grief or backchat, unlike his children had in their teen years.

The compound resembled a pig sty more than it did a suitable place for his pets. It was still warm enough that he didn't need to take them in so he put a partition in the middle of the pen and started moving the guinea pigs over one by one. First he picked up Simon and gave him a scratch behind his ear, the place that made his hind leg jump. He listened for the pet to purr. "Hi Simon, how's it going today? You didn't let those brothers of yours push you around, did you?"

Next was Alvin. Alvin was always getting into things and was a lively scamp. "I see you've made a mess out of the living room again. You always have to be tearing into things, can't leave well enough alone." With a final pat, Ted moved the second guinea pig.

Ted's personal favorite came next; Ted always took quite a bit of time chatting with Theodore, telling him about his day. He'd barely made a dent in moving the 13 guinea pigs and halted as he reached for Theodore, his attention pulled away.

The sound of horse hooves could be heard trampling the ground in the distance. "That's strange, we're just outside of the city and it's all paved streets here. Not packed dirt."

Shielding his eyes from the sunlight, Ted stared into the distance. Nothing was distrubed and it was quiet, save for the noises his pets were making. Ted returned his attention to the pen, but a horse nickered from nearby. Twirling around in every direction, Ted tried to pinpoint the source of the noise. Maybe he left the TV on and the volume had gone wacky again. Damn foreign goods.

Ted dismissed the noise and turned around, bending over to capture Theodore for transport. Theodore, sweet, docile Theodore allowed himself to be lifted and as Ted brought him in for a cuddle, the little bugger jumped.

Upward.

Lunging at his face.

Not so much scared as startled, Ted stumbled to the side, his feet twisting in the pen. He crashed down hard, landing uncomfortably on to his side, unable to use his arms to break his fall because he was busy trying to keep Theodore from taking the brunt of the fall. Guinea pigs were fragile and he'd just die if something happened to his pets. Especially Theodore. His namesake.

His namesake was fine. His namesake was leading the charge.

Ted scrambled to find his footing, but guinea pigs were jumping on his back, nipping at his exposed skin. Their teeth were razer sharp.

Twisting.

Biting.

Ted covered his head and awkwardly rolled over, trying to climb to his feet. His head slammed hard into the side of the lookout tower and he saw stars.

Then he saw guinea pigs.

His last thoughts were of his beloved animals. Who would care for them? Something dug at Ted's eyes and his hands were so busy holding his intestines in, he could only blink.

His brain finally stopped churning, overcome with the horror of what had happened to him.

If he was still alive, he wouldn't have been able to see that his prized pets were stomping all over his body on their way to the garden and freedom—his eyes, along with other organs, had been mutilated by the tiny, ravaging bodies.

A horse pawed the ground nearby but no one was around to hear it.

-0-

The Huckleberry Patch had taken the edge off Sam's hunger. Dinner had been such a hit last night, other than Sam almost face planting in his French onion soup as fatigue set in with a vegeance, that the brothers had stopped back for breakfast. Blueberry pancakes smothered in syrup with a side bacon would give him the energy to spend the morning ourdoors while the hot coffee gave him the caffeine jolt needed to move him to the car.

Sam had slept a solid eight hours but it wasn't enough. He smothered a yawn behind his glove and redirected a blower so heat blasted him in the face. He wished he'd pulled on one more layer before leaving the room but Dean had maintained that it was going to be a nice day and they'd be plenty warm as they moved around, trying to pinpoint the locations of the attacks.

The car had stopped moving without Sam realizing it and he was now undergoing intense scrutiny from Dean. He couldn't blame his brother; he wasn't at the top of his game and that was dangerous. But Dean wanted to do this hunt so badly and knew Sam wasn't up to snuff so they were taking things slowly.

Dean grabbed the map Sheriff Frehley had given them and slapped it onto Sam's thigh. "Here we are, the entry point to Flathead National Forest. First stop, land of the psycho bunnies."

Sam rolled his eyes good naturedly at his brother and threw open the Impala's heavy door, cringing at the loud squeak. Dean ignored the noise, stomping toward the path. Over his shoulder, he called out, "Come on, Sam, shake a leg. We don't have all day. Oh, wait. We do. And I know you're a nature lover so this'll be right up your alley." Dean cackled gleefully and trudged onward. Sam didn't know why Dean was so happy; he was a city dweller, not a country boy, while Sam detested camping so it should've been a toss up as to who hated this more.

Ignoring the way his body rippled with cold in the crisp morning air, Sam followed behind Dean. The site where the attack of the killer bunnies took place had nothing out of the ordinary to recommend it, other than dark splatters on a tree that bespoke of violence.

Dean, looking snug in his warm leather jacket, shrugged his shoulders. "Let's see what's behind curtain number two. That would be where the vicious deer pack took out those hikers."

Both brothers noted the copious amounts of footprintes in the mud as they left the area behind. If there had been a clue left on the ground, it was deeply embedded in the wet ground and no longer visible.

Sam was grateful for the running commentary Dean supplied as they plunged onward. They'd been walking around for thirty minutes, tops, and Sam was already feeling the effects of the activity and cold. Pulling the collar up higher on his neck, Sam burrowed down into the material.

Something soft hit him in the face and his hands reached out automatically to catch whatever it was: A navy blue knit hat. "You're losing all of your heat out the top of your head. I know with all that hair you'd think you'd stay warm but it looks like you need another layer."

Turning the hat over in his hands, Sam stared at it, frowning. He hated hats. Dean's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Come on, Samantha, I know it doesn't match your ensemble but surely you're willing to sacrifice your sense of fashion to stay warm."

Sam jammed the hat on his head, pulling it down over his ears. He did his best to poke his bangs to the side so he could see but they kept working their way loose and obscuring his vision. After much tucking and poking and pulling, Sam finally had the hat in place. He could feel his hair winging out around the material, framing his face. God, this was why he hated hats.

Dean broke out a round of golf claps. "You look beautiful, Sam. Now can we get a move on it?"

He knew he looked ridiculous but Sam had to admit he already felt better. Dean had been right. Not that Sam was going to tell him that. Dean would never let him forget it. Claim it was his big brother right or some shit like that.

The location of the deer herd gone wild didn't yield many clues. One again they found traces of the hikers along with what appeared to be deer prints. Not that either of them were experts on animal prints but the size seemed to be right.

Something caught Sam's eye and he wandered off the path, weaving between some evergreens. Something shiny had beckoned but it turned out to be a piece of plastic caught on a branch. Dean's concerned voice called to him, "Sammy? Everything okay?"

Sam's feet tangled in some brambles and he looked down so he wouldn't trip. This was why he disliked being outdoors; he felt like one big, clumsy oaf. A big clumsy oaf that may have discovered a clue. Hoof prints. Definitely bigger than the deer. And there was no cleft in the prints. "I maybe found something, come have a look!"

A hand at his elbow made Sam jump. He hadn't heard Dean approach. He hated the muzzy feeling in his head as much as he hated the way the knit hat made his hair wing out. Sam was relieved when Dean's voice was sedate instead of accusatory. He hated letting his brother down. "Don't go off four wheeling by yourself, doofus. We need to stick together. Now what did you find?"

Kneeling down, Sam lightly knocked some leaves from his find. "These don't look like deer prints. What do you think made them?"

Dean stepped across from Sam and knelt down on the other side of the prints. "Looks like a horse made it. Here's another one. But this horse isn't wearing shoes. Maybe a wild horse made these prints." The last was part statement and part question but Sam didn't have enough knowledge to hazard a guess.

Sam's cell phone went off, the theme song to Shaft softly playing. Law enforcement. "Is this Stanley? This is Frehley. I've got a question for you."

"Allright, I'll bite. What do you want to know?" Sam was trying to play it cool but he hadn't really expected the sherriff to call him and he was a little off kilter. What if Frehley had figured out they weren't with Professional Wildlife Control Service?

The sherriff's words dispelled Sam's concern. "What do you call a multitude of guinea pigs?"

Dean was looking at Sam intensely, pantomiming something in the air. It was totally distracting and Sam turned his back on his brother so he could concentrate on the sherriff who for some reason was asking Sam a question better left to a reference librarian. "Um, I think you got me on that one. What do you call it?"

"I call them killers. We've had another fatal animal attack and as hard as it is to believe, this time it was guinea pigs. We're told Ted McNally had 13 guinea pigs and they're all missing. Ted's body, or what's left of it, is lying in their pen." Frehley's voice was a bit breathless but Sam could certainly understand it; it's not every day that household pets, small household pets, overcame and murdered their owner.

Sam snuck a finger up inside the hat and scratched. Damn hats always made his head itch. "This might sound like a strange question, but do you see any other animal prints in the area? Like maybe a hoof print from an un-shod horse?"

"Interesting question. Let me look around some more. Hang on."

The hat was beginning to work its way off Sam's head and he balanced the phone in the crook of his neck while he reached up to snugg it down. Dean beat him to it, jamming the hat down so it covered Sam's eyes. Pushing the hat up, Sam turned around and met his brother's gleeful look with a snarl.

The sherriff interrupted Sam before he could harangue Dean about the hat. "There does look like a set of hoof prints next to the house. I'm having the area cordoned off. You want to tell me what the hell a horse has to do with guinea pigs killing a person?"

Sam pushed the front of the hat up so he could see again. "I don't really know what the connection is but we found similar prints by where the deer herd went on the attack. We're going to check out the other spots now and we'll be back later. I'll let you know if we find anything else. Thanks for the call, Sheriff."

Dean, who had taken to studying the map, looked up as Sam disconnected the call. "So you gonna tell me what that was all about? And since when are you and Frehly so tight?"

Rolling his eyes again, Sam fought against mild dizziness. Maybe his body was telling him to quit with that habit. But with Dean around, it was a hard habit to break. "Some poor schmuck got done in by his pet guinea pigs. And Frehley spotted some hoofprints."

Folding up the map, Dean nodded his head. "I don't know what it means but Barry mentioned a horse neighing. Maybe we're looking at animal possession? Let's hit the last place. It's about a hundred yards over that rise."

All Sam wanted to do was hike back to the car and get warm followed by a nap. But they'd come this far so they might as well get this over with. Sam didn't want to have to come back. In fact, maybe he could hustle things along a little. "You go left and I'll go right. We can cover more ground that way."

"No dice, Sam. The deal was that we stay together." Sam could tell Dean's patience was wearing thin, his voice testy.

But Sam wanted to burrow down into the bed and get warm. His patience was frayed, too. "We'll maintain visual contact. Come on, Dean. We'll get done quicker this way."

Dean halted his forward progress and turned around so he could face Sam. His brother's eyes swept over him from his muddy boots to the top of the hated knit hat, lingering on his face. Dean's lips pulled into a straight line but he finally agreed. "No going off on your own. No hot doggin' it. And you motion me over the minute you think you've got something."

Sweeping his hand in front of him, Sam countered with, "Age before beauty."

Scowling, Dean moved ahead with a burst of speed and Sam silently wondered where his brother got his energy from. Splitting to the right as they crested the ridge, Sam slipped and slid in the mud, trying hard not to trample any prints. His feet finally lost purchase and he tumbled, head over heels, until he landed against a slight sapling with a mild, "Oomph."

Dean's feet came crashing down the hillside. "Sammy, you okay?! Answer me!"

Amazingly, Sam was fine. His elbow was sore from where it had collided with the ground and he was filthy with mud but nothing was broken or even badly bruised. Climbing to his feet, Sam waved Dean off. "I'm fine. Go back to what you were doing. I'll take this area."

Slowing his descent, Dean stared, pointing at Sam. "You've got some, um, muck on your right cheek. No, your other right cheek. Never mind, you're a mess. We'll have to hose you off before you get in the Impala."

Sam huffed a sigh, but looking down he acknowledged he was a mess. The mud clinging to his legs was wet and shivering was now in full force. Wiping his dirt stained palms on his jeans, Sam refocussed. The faster he did this, the faster they could get back to town.

His eyes combed the area and he'd almost given up hope when he saw them: Barely visible hoof prints, a complete set, stark against the mud on the hill. It was hard to imagine a grown horse had left the marks, the indents were so slight, but Sam didn't know anything about wild horses and hadn't had a chance to do any research on them.

A noise on the breeze snatched his attention and Sam stilled his motions.

A horse whinnied.

The hair on the back of Sam's neck stood up and he glanced around with only his eyes, trying to catch Dean's attention. Dean's back was to him and he didn't want to call out so his eyes spanned the hill, taking in all of the evergreens. Nothing.

Sam turned back to call Dean over and found himself face to face with a wolf.

The animal was gorgeous with a thick, white coat. Its luminous brown eyes blinked up at him.

Its barred teeth sealed the deal and Sam eased the gun out of the back of his waistband, unsure if he should break eye contact or maintain it. He didn't want to challenge the animal but he didn't want it to think it was the alpha here.

The wolf stood motionless, saliva dripping from its muzzle as a growl rattled in its throat.

Sam didn't want to shoot, the animal was beautiful and he was on its terrain. But the ghostly sound of a horse nickering whispered in his mind and it was enough to make him wonder it he was facing a wolf or something else.

Soft footfalls sounded behind him. Dean to the rescue. Except Sam didn't want Dean to get hurt. "Dean, stay back."

He whispered so softly he wasn't sure Dean heard him. He heard the unmistakeable sound of a gun cocking. Dean either didn't hear him or ignored him. The ground beneath Sam's feet trembled. "No, Dean, wait!"

Hooves pounded the ground in the distance. "What the--" Dean started to say but bit off his words.

Sam caught a glimpse of something behind the wolf. Sam lowered his weapon, praying Dean would do the same. "Don't, Dean, she won't attack us if we go away..."

Brown puppy-dog-eyes blinked up at them from behind the wolf's hind legs and two small noses sniffed in their direction. Dean latched on to Sam's shoulder, his grip powerful. "She's just protecting her pups," Sam explained softely.

He wanted to break into hysterical laughter, his relief was that acute, but they weren't out of the woods yet. They took a few tentative steps back and the tension melted out of Dean's hand where it clutched at Sam's shoulder. The she-wolf and her pups backed into the undergrowth of a bushy tree, lost to the network of green needles.

Dean squeezed Sam's shoulder. "Come on, Dr. Doolittle, let's get--"

Another whinny from nearby had both men wheeling around.

A big, black bear charged from over the hill.

Dean didn't wait to ask questions, smoothly pumping rounds into the bear.

The bear didn't care in the least, his gait unchecked by the bullets.

Sam plugged the bear several times himself. In the heart. Why was it picking up speed?


	4. Chapter 4

PART FOUR

Dean gripped Sam's elbow hard, willing his brother to keep up. Sam's long legs scrambled but he was lagging behind. When Sam stumbled, Dean adjusted his hold from Sam's elbow to his wrist, continuing to yank him along.

Whipping his head around to check on both the progress of the bear and his brother, Dean couldn't help but notice the bear had gained ground. In contrast, Sam's progress was slowing. Sam's mouth moved but the blood pumped so loudly in Dean's ears he couldn't hear a word his brother said.

Dean's imagination was running wild--he could swear the bear (a freakin' bear!) was breathing down the back of his neck. Another glance behind him showed that it wasn't the bear; Sam had found a burst of energy and was right at Dean's back.   Dean slowed to a jog, pushing Sam ahead of him, into the cave. It was fool hardy to duck into a dark cave but what other option did they have? Sam's eyes were dark pools in his pale skin but Sam's brain was working in tandem with Dean; his brother reached into his pocket for the lighter fluid he always carried as Dean pulled out a book of matches.

Liberally splashing the entrance of the cave, Sam stepped back just as the bear growled its unhappiness at having to chase its prey so far. Dean wasted no time in striking the match and throwing it on the accelerant.

The bear roared as the flame exploded toward the ceiling in a loud whoosh. Through the fire, Dean could see the bear's nose was twitching, its teeth gnashing.

Something pungent filled Dean's nostrils. The unmistakable aroma of singed cloth and skin.

Eyes rolling wildly about, Dean located the source of the smell--Sam's pant leg was smoldering, flames licking at the denim.  Dean shot forward, his foot catching Sam behind the knee, forcing his brother to the ground.   _Sam, burning on the funeral pyre._ Dean shook his head to clear the image but everywhere his eyes darted, he saw his brother's clothing curling around his still body, dark smoke rising in the air.

The smoke. The stench. Dean was losing Sammy again, the fire consuming him.   Dean's inner eye displayed nothing but flames consuming the last of his family but he couldn't turn away, shake the image.   Hands gripped his shoulders, lightly shaking him. A familiar voice blasted Dean's name in his face and he could swear it was Sam's voice calling to him. But that's impossible, Sam's dead.   "Dean, you okay? Hey, man, we need to move back. Don't want you going up like kindling." It is Sam's voice, soft with concern. Sam with his puppy-dog eyes turned full force on Dean.

Dean allowed himself to be tugged away from the front line, warmth licking at his exposed skin. The movement snapped Dean out of his trance, his eyes raking over his brother.

His brother who was standing in front of him, fully dressed on top in jacket and knit hat, his lower half showing way more skin than Dean wanted to see, overexposed in boxer briefs. His smoldering jeans were clenched in his hand. The only apparent damage seemed to be a quarter sized area on Sam's shin, the skin intensely red and peppered with blisters. A second degree burn although due to its size, they should be able to treat it like a first degree burn as long as it didn't show signs of infection.

Kneeling down in front of Sam, Dean lightly cupped the back of his brother's leg to hold him still while he checked out the damage up close. Definitely a second degree burn. Pain and swelling were the major considerations but there was little Dean could do at the moment to address them. The first aid kit with the Tylenol and bandages were back at the car and there was no cold running water. Maybe the snow would...

"Dude, out of my personal space. We've got bigger fish to fry at the moment, don't you think?" Sam's hair flipped all over the place under the hat but it was his eyes that got to Dean, pleading with him to pull himself together.

Dean reluctantly rose to his feet, feeling winded and shaky. If he didn't know any better, he'd think he was the one going into shock.   Sam shook his head ruefully, patting Dean gingerly on the back. The bear's growl reached a crescendo and Dean found Sam practically planted in his side. Dean wasn't the only one suffering from shock if the way Sam jumped was anything to go by.

Laughter bubbled in Dean's throat and burst from his lips in a snicker. They were in the middle of a forest, trapped by a bear and Sam had lost his jeans. Maybe he was suffering from hysteria or maybe it was just relief but Dean allowed himself to laugh until tears stung his eyes.

Sam was alive. Dean must have been caught up in his own nightmare, reliving what had happened following the events at Cold Oak. At least he'd gotten Sam to stop and drop. His brother must've taken over with the roll portion of firefighting 101 without Dean's help. Sam wasn't saying anything which was unusual but if his eyes got any bigger, his face wouldn't be able to contain them.

Sam was injured which meant it was time for Dean to regain control of himself and the situation. "Move as far back into the cave as you can while still being able to see the bear. And get off that leg. I'm going to gather whatever I can to feed the fire so Smokey here doesn't feel like dropping in for a snack."

His brother looked like he wanted to say something but instead pivoted akwardly and limped toward the back of the cave.

Reaching down, Dean scooped up a handful of branches so he could add it to their little bonfire. Some animal had probably dragged them into the cave, hoping to make a cozy little nest. The bear was pawing and snorting and Dean did his best to filter out the noise while he gathered together all the scraps of kindling he could find and made a pile.

Despite his all important task of wood gatherer, most of Dean's attention was on Sam who was sitting against the cave wall modifying his jeans with his Swiss army knife. There was no way the blistered skin could tolerate the rub of denim and it was too cold for Sam to run around in his underwear. Dean only hoped the blade didn't slip and open up an artery; with the way their luck was running, it was a distinct possibility. In fact Dean was having a hard time not marching over to Sam and taking over. Two things stopped him--Sam's strong streak of independence and the bear pacing in front of the cave. The possessed bear was definitely their biggest threat at the moment.

Dean knew he'd plugged the animal through the heart with multiple bullets so how was it even possible that it was upright? A junky full of stimulants could withstand a lot of damage in the pursuit of the next score but it seemed hard to believe that a black bear would have the same drive.

"Damn it, ouch," Sam bit off softly and that was all the impetus Dean needed to drop his pieces of wood and hurry over to his brother. Convinced he would find Sam saturated in blood, Dean was surprised to see Sam hopping around on one leg, trying to pull his jeans on. Ordinarily Dean would want to pull his cell phone out and take a picture--Sam staggering and hopping on one leg was too good to pass up--but right now Dean was hard pressed to even dredge up a smile.

This hunt had gone to hell-in-a-hand-basket and it was all Dean's fault for talking Sam into it.  Dean rushed forward and steadied Sam before his brother could do more damage. His balance restored, Sam was able to draw his pant leg carefully over the wound. Sam was a sight; covered in mud with his torn jeans he looked like he'd wrestled an alligator in the bayou. And lost.

Winded from his efforts, Sam slunk down against the wall, wincing. Dean slumped down next to him, wary of the bear's efforts to gain entry and the fire that needed constant stoking. Right now Sam was his priority. "How's the leg?"

Sam shrugged his shoulders, an answer that could be interpreted as good, bad or indifferent. The glow of the blaze in front of them danced over Sam's face, a painful reminder to Dean of Sam's close brushes with fire over his young life. But Sam was here, living and breathing, and that meant everything. If only Sam didn't look so drawn. Maybe Dean could distract him from his pain, at least for a while. "So, what do you think the Worst Case Scenario Handbook would say about meeting a bear?"

That earned a snort from his brother. "Well, for a grizzly bear attack the handbook says you should lie still and be quiet. Guess we blew that one. However, I don't think the handbook said anything about what to do when faced with a possessed bear."

Dean returned the snort. Leave it to his knowledge seeking brother to have committed the Worst Case Scenario Handbook to memory. "No shit. I don't think there's anything in any handbook about that one." A shiver jerked Sam's body and Dean slid closer, hoping his own body heat would warm Sam up. "Hey, you okay?"

Sam leaned against the grimy cave wall and let his head roll toward Dean. It was eerie the way the light flickered over Sam's face, highlighting the contours of his brother's face, hollowing out his already prominent cheekbones. Making Sam look deathly ill. "Just peachy." Dean flinched at the flat, toneless reply. Sam's eyebrow quirked in question and his face became more animated. "Really, relax. I'm okay. Remember that time you burned your arm on the oven when you were making us pizza? That was way worse than this little burn. And anyway, we just need to wait out Yogi.

"  At least Sam's sense of humor and memory were still intact. Dean remembered the burn on his arm vividly. Five year old Sam had been sick with the chicken pox and when he got his appetite back, the first thing he asked for was pizza. Their dad was gone on a hunt and Dean had done his best to heat the frozen pizza. A little incident concerning a potholder jumping out of Dean's hand had caused a commotion and resulted in Dean losing his balance. He'd righted himself...bare skin against the side of the oven. And it had hurt like a bitch.

The old war wound of Dean's did nothing to mitigate his guilt over dragging Sam to Montana. His little brother sure looked like crap and it weighed heavily on Dean's mind.

His brother's voice interrupted the self flagellation. "So why do you think the bullets didn't take it down? I mean I know we both plugged him over and over again. What are we missing?"

It was Dean's turn to shrug his shoulders. "I keep going back to possession but I've never heard of this extreme of a case when it comes to animals. And then there's that stupid ghost horse. What the hell?"

The bear continued to crash around the vicinity, desperate to get inside. Dean dragged himself to his feet, weariness starting to hit now that the burst of adrenaline had passed. Sam's voice, drowsy and quiet, mumbled behind him, "Too bad we can't get a good WiFi connection inside here. I could check out incidences of bear possession and maybe a ritual to banish it."

Dean threw more shrubbery on the bonfire, waiting to make sure it caught and stoked the fire. Once it was burning to his satisfaction, he pulled out his cell phone to see if he could get reception. Nothing.  It didn't surprise him. They were surrounded by solid rock. Maybe he could make a break for it, get a signal. If Sam got any worse it was worth trying.

"Don't."

Dean turned around to face Sam who was frowning up at him. "Don't what?"   "Don't sprint out of here, bent on getting a cell signal. I'm fine." Sam's voice was soft but steady. If a shiver hadn't rippled through his frame, Dean would have bought into that last statement more.

Easing back down next to Sam, Dean bumped his shoulder into his brother's. It was a sign of camaraderie. A sign of affection. It let Dean move close to Sam to feed him his body warmth again without Sam throwing a fit.

Dean started to shrug out of his leather jacket, intent on throwing it over Sam. "Don't, keep it. I'm doing okay. Anyway, I'm hoping we aren't stuck here much longer."

Sam shifted against the wall. "I think I've got mud in places I'd rather not know about."

There was a distinct possibility they were going to have to spend the night in the cave but Dean wasn't going to mention it right now. They'd cross that bridge--rickety with parts falling off it--when  it came to that.

He tried to direct his attention elsewhere, he really did, but he couldn't stop staring at Sam. He'd really thought Sam had gone up in flames for a second time in front of him and just the thought of it made  Dean's heart thunder in his chest.

When Sam shivered yet again, Dean slid his arm around Sam's shoulder and tugged him closer. He could feel the little tremors rippling through his brother's body and when Sam didn't pull away, he knew the kid was in some distress. But Sam was still with it enough to prod at Dean. "What happened earlier, when you realized my jeans had caught fire? You threw me on the ground and then you just kind of checked out. Are you okay?"

Only Sam would be concerned for Dean's mental well being at a time like this. The Earth could stop spinning and Sam would want to know what Dean's thoughts were on the subject. It used to be a source of bemusement to both his dad and to Dean, how Sam had to identify the problem and look at it from every angle before he was content to move forward. Such a contrast with how Dean and his old man operated. Had operated.

Dean refused to dwell on that. He couldn't go there. Not now. Maybe not ever.

Once Sam dug his teeth into something, there was no stopping him. Especially here in a cave where Dean couldn't just up and leave to get away from the searching eyes and gentle questioning. He might as well give in gracefully. "I froze. I saw the flames, smelled something acrid burning. It was like I was reliving it again. I mean I saw the flames on your pant leg and I was thrown right back there, right back to Cold Oak. You dead in my arms, blood on your lips. Me torching your body. I was all alone. The memories just wouldn't stop."

Silence met his heartfelt confession.  Dean turned his head to find Sam had conked out, head lolling against the uncomfortable wall of the cave, the steady even breaths of deep sleep filtering into his ears now that he'd stopped talking. Scooting closer, Dean tugged Sam more firmly against his own side. He tucked Sam's knit-clad head against his shoulder. As a makeshift pillow it wasn't much but at least his body heat was preferable to the cold seeping from the cave.

The bear had finally quieted and Dean should get up and check to see if the coast was clear. But Sam was sleeping so peacefully, and he looked so damn vulnerable curled against Dean's side, that Dean didn't have the heart to disturb him. He'd give it a few minutes and then see what was happening. Sam deserved at least a few minutes reprieve.

-0-

Sam came to and found himself lying on something hard. The smell of damp earth greeted his sharp inhalation. He was on the ground. But where?

Pain flared up and down his body but it mostly concentrated in his low back.

Jake stabbing him.

Azazel taunting them at the cemetery.

Their dad.

Something touched Sam's shoulder and his eyes flew open. His body jerked, unsure of the threat. His blood was pumping so hard he thought his head might pop off.

"Easy Sam, it's just me." Dean's voice was steady, his touch careful. "I think Gentle Ben is finally gone."

Sam scrambled to his feet. Hissing as the blisters on his leg flexed and let their unhappiness be known. Dean's shoulder bolstered Sam up and he leaned into the contact. His mind was shaking off the dream--memory--whatever he'd had and he was slowly getting with the program.

Too slowly. Dean was giving him that look again. A look made up of equal parts frustration and worry. Sam wished he could marshal his thoughts more quickly but his brain wouldn't cooperate. Dean had enough on his mind these days. He didn't need the worry and hassle of keeping up with Sam's little neuroses now.

Dean guided him toward the fire and Sam's feet planted themselves, refusing to move another inch. Sam rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. His body was telling him to stay put but his brain was urging him on. His brother's grip was strong on his arm, drawing him forward. They edged around the bonfire, strong enough to throw off enough heat that Sam turned his face from it. Right into the crook of Dean's neck.

Without a fuss Dean hauled Sam out into the crisp air. Dean's breathing was every bit as agitated as Sam's but as they staggered out into the open that eased up.

Embarrassed at his reaction, Sam forced his hands to uncurl from where they gripped at Dean's jacket. It was the dream that had him off kilter.

Dean's expression was dubious, eyebrow quirked with concern. "Why don't you see if you can get a signal, check in with Bobby. I'm going to see if the coast is clear."

Sam lunged forward, wrapping his hands around Dean's arm. "No! Wait, I'll go with you."

The thought of being left alone had Sam's heart rate kicking right back up there again. This wasn't like him. It was starting to freak him the hell out.

Dean was rubbing his hand on Sam's back. It should have been irritating but Sam found it soothing. Another sign that something was off with him. "Fine. I'll try Bobby and then we'll see about getting back to town."

His brother pulled his cell phone out with one hand and towed Sam along with the other. His feet kept tangling, his coordination off. He kept expecting Dean to rag on him about it. Instead Dean kept shooting him more worried glances.

At last Dean had a signal. His brother's eyes darted around the area, on the look out for another episode of When Animals Attack! while he dialed up Bobby without even looking at his contact list. "Yeah, it's me. We ran into a little problem."

Sam was feeling steadier with each passing minute and despite the frown Dean threw at him, he edged away from his brother's side. The least he could do was make sure the area was secure.

"We shoulda come loaded for bear. One chased us and we've been waiting him out in a cave."

Pause.

"We're not complete morons, Bobby. We built up a bit of a fire and it didn't really care for that." Sam's lips edged up a little at that. Bobby sure was good at yanking Dean's chain. Sam listened to Dean's half of the conversation while widening his search.

"Don't go too far, Sammy." Sam turned to find Dean cupping his hand over his cell phone, motioning him to stay put. He resumed his conversation once Sam moved closer. "Sammy got a little singed but he's okay," followed by a short pause and then Dean barking at their friend through the phone, "You don't think I know that, Bobby?"

"He was better but now he's a little...yeah. Exactly." Sam wondered who the _he _was--Sam or the bear. He didn't much like being the subject of conversation and he frowned at Dean. His brother turned his back on Sam which irritated him all the more. Although it wasn't Dean's fault Sam had been acting weird.

"I suppose it coulda been a grizzly. We didn't stop to chat." The smirk was evident in his brother's voice.

"Yeah, it had a hump between its shoulder blades. Uh huh. Definitely had a flat head."

"Fine, we were chased by a Grizzly. But I think we heard a horse, too. A ghost horse. One of the witnesses mentioned it and we found hoof prints at some of the crime scenes."

"I don't know either. If you find something, let us know. Any helpful hints on what we should do if we run into the bear again?"

Dean snorted. "Real cute, Bobby. Okay, we're going to see if he's moved on and make our way into town. We'll call you later."

Dean snapped his cell phone shut. Without his voice talking to Bobby the forest was quiet. No bear rampaging around. No horse neighing in the distance.

Slapping Sam lightly on the shoulder, Dean smiled. The smile didn't really reach his eyes though. "Bobby said we're idjits for coming out here. And that we'd better hope we run into Grizzly Adams if we encounter another bear otherwise we're screwed. Ready to hike for the car?"

"I think I've had enough of the great outdoors to last me quite a while." A shiver slithered down Sam's spine and he spun around.

Nothing was there.

Dean didn't say anything, just walked as close to Sam's side as he could without them tripping up each other. They picked their way across the rocky, uneven ground, both relieved when they crested the hill where they first met the bear.

Sam stumbled, his feet dragging from exhaustion and Dean was there with a hand on his arm to hold him upright. "You wanna stop for a minute, catch our breath?"

Dean wasn't out of breath in the slightist. Sam was the one slowing them down. When another shiver crawled down his spine, Sam jammed the hated knit hat further down on his head. "Let's just keep going."

His brother just shrugged, stepping into the lead. They had found the path they'd taken in and the hiking was getting easier for Sam. Whenever he got to feeling too cocky, his right leg would throb reminding him to take it easy.

"LOOK OUT!"

Sam found himself plastered against Dean's back as his brother jumped between Sam and something he couldn't see.

His brother stood there tensely, not moving a muscle, and Sam did the same.

Dean moved forward cautiously, Sam peering over his shoulder.

A bear was lying to the side of the path.

Sam's fight or flight response kicked in but he hovered behind his brother. There was no way Sam was going to leave Dean to face down a bear by himself.

Except the bear wasn't moving. Dean made as though to kick its torso but Sam hauled him back. "Don't. Let's just go."

Dean of course ignored him. Bending over, Dean scrutinized the bear's chest. Sam held his breath, waiting for the thing to suddenly rear up and stuff Dean's head in its mouth. But it just laid there.

"You gotta see this, Sam. I swear, we plugged him in the heart at least 15 times. How the hell was the thing able to stay on its feet after that kind of damage?" Dean's eyes were round with wonder as he turned around and looked at Sam.

Sam scratched his chin. He really didn't want to linger out here anymore. But this was why they'd come to Montana in the first place. "My money's on the possession angle. I mean you heard the horse, right?"

Dean narrowed his eyes, looking around. "I definitely heard something. Bobby's looking into it. Come on, let's get back to the car before it gets any colder out here." Dean shoved Sam's hat farther down on his head, pushing his hair into his face. "Can't have you turning into a popsickle on my watch."

He should have been tired of Dean manhandling but when Dean grabbed his forearm and pulled him along, Sam relaxed.

Things had been all screwed up since Cold Oak but the one thing that hadn't changed was Dean looking out for him. Sam realized he depended on it. It was the one constant left in his life.

The events at the cemetery in Wyoming had certainly blown apart everything else Sam thought he knew.

-0-

It had been two days since the boys—they could be in their fifties and to Bobby they would always be boys—had made it back to Hungry Horse and they were due at Bobby's any minute now. Bobby was eager to see them.

Dean had insisted they stay while trying to figure out the ghost horse angle and he'd also wanted to give Sam a chance to catch his breath. The kid had suffered second degree burns on his lower right leg and that coupled with everything had taken the starch right out of Sam. That's why Bobby had felt a touch of guilt when he'd told, no, ordered Dean to get the two of them back to his house.

But damn it, it was important. Bobby needed to have them safe under his roof and he needed to figure out what was going on. Dean was no slouch when it came to problem solving and Bobby could surely use his help. It would've been nice to have Sam's help but Bobby was pretty sure the kid wasn't up to this kind of heavy duty thinking yet.

Bobby heard gravel churning in his driveway and mosied on out to the porch to greet the Winchesters. When Dean exited the Impala and gave Bobby a distracted wave before moving around the hood of the car to the passenger door, Bobby hustled down the rickety stairs to meet him.

The older brother was pale, the dark stubble on his face a contrast to the doughy skin. Dark circles under his eyes spoke of the strain Dean was under. More concerning was the fact that Sam hadn't exited the car yet. "I sure am glad you both made it back in one piece, boy."

Dean's smile was crooked. And distracted. "What's so important that we had to come back today? Sam coulda used another day to sleep."

Bobby bent over and looked into the passenger side window. Sam was leaning heavily against the door, head bent at an awkard angle, and Bobby was pretty sure he could hear snoring. "I don't know, Dean. Sounds to me like Sam's sleeping just fine."

The smile was wiped from Dean's face. Big hazel eyes stared at Bobby, pleading. "I don't know what to do, Bobby. I thought getting Sam back on the road, back into the routine, would help him. But he's exhausted all the time. And jumpy. I just don't know..."

It wasn't like Dean to be unsure of himself, at least not when it came to his brother. "Let's get him inside. You look like you're wiped out, too. I've got chili on the stove if you're hungry."

Dean, who could always eat and loved Bobby's chili, declined. It might have been the first time since he'd been stuck in Bobby's guestroom with the chicken pox when he was ten that Dean had said no to eating. Bobby knew Dean had been tense and worried from his brief conversations with him but he'd underestimated how bad things were. Unfortunately Bobby's news wasn't going to help with the stress.

Bobby wondered how exactly Dean planned on getting his taller, and heavier, little brother inside. His own back sure as hell couldn't withstand that kind of strain. Looking at Dean, it didn't look like he felt up to it either.

The older brother whipped open the door and caught the younger as he started to tumble to the ground. It wasn't the most pleasant way to wake up and Bobby half expected Sam to come up swinging.

Sam flinched awake but stared dazedly around. Dean was kneeling next to the car, holding Sam up. "Where are we?"

Dean helped Sam unfold himself from the Impala and as Bobby got his first look at Sam, he understood Dean's concern. The kid had absolutely no color in his face which made his panda eyes stand out all the more. Bobby leaned forward, thinking Sam had two black eyes, but no, that wasn't the case; the skin around and particularly under the usually bright eyes had a bruised quality. Venous pools Bobby thought it was called. And Sam's eyes were bright but not due to his inquisitive nature; they were shiny with moisture.

Bobby hooked an arm around Sam's waist and began guiding him to the porch. With each step Sam seemed to gain momentum and it didn't take long before Sam was deposited on Bobby's couch. Sam lifted two fists toward his eyes, looking every inch the tired toddler. "Don't rub your eyes, boy, you'll only irritate 'em."

The younger brother blushed but dropped his hands. "Dean said you maybe had a break in the case but you wanted us to come back here. What did you find?"

Dean dropped two duffel bags on the floor and shucked out of his jacket before dropping into a chair. "You know I hate leaving a job done half-assed. So I figure this oughta be pretty important. Spill."

Bobby hadn't planned on getting into things so quickly, especially with both brothers looking like they could sleep for twelve hours. But this is what he'd called them home for after all. Walking to his study, he grabbed the King James Bible on his desk. "It took me a while but I think I figured out something. Seems there's a famine in Georgia and no one could make heads or tails out of it."

He let that sink in for a moment before continuing. Dean was frowning and his lips were parted, as if he was going to start bitching and moaning. Sam's lips were pursed but he appeared to be deep in thought.

Handing the bible to Dean, Bobby told him what passage to read. "Revelations 6:8."

Sam's head jerked up at the mention of Revelations and he grew more pale if that was possible. Bobby thought about getting a bucket for him in case he was going to puke.

Bobby hadn't expected him to but Dean chose to read aloud so Sam could hear. "And when he had opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth beast say, Come and see. And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth."

Dean hadn't even finished the passage before Sam was bolting to the bathroom.

The older brother stared up at Bobby, eyes wide and incredulous, the bible held loosely in his hands. "You can't be serious."

_End_


End file.
